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After this, see the invisible notes stained eyes and saw an open door in the mirror. And that voice I had heard when he was not yet, and seemed hopeful lament of the Phoenix, he said: "Back to you and show you things that will never happen after the death of the seed." At that moment I was under the power of the idea and saw a throne built on a spike, and someone was sitting on the throne, invested in the lotus position. And he looked like a polished stone by the sound of rain, or a flock of crows lapis lazuli, and around the throne there was a desert that shone like a moonless night. I also saw approximately throne seven quarters in which a mantis waiting forever, and were clad volcanoes, and wore a crown of lighted lamps in the head. From the throne came caresses and promises burning before the throne and good wishes of men without souls.

And to the right of the throne was a melted clock whose drops were falling on a scroll written within and without, and closed with seven kisses on the eyelids sleep. And I saw a winged old man singing with closed lips: "Who longs to undo the time putting on these hot lips eyelids frozen drops, to open the scroll?".

But neither heaven nor on earth nor under the earth was no one to dream of the parchment. And I wept ink and dreams because there was nobody who believed in that stuff.

Then, amid the lethargy of men sleepwalkers, a transparent bishop took the drop in your little finger and proceeded to weave a blanket with them to turn on the pulsating stars.

When I was kissing the eyelid to suck the first drop, I heard a siren song virgin crackling voice said: "Dream!".

When I saw the second kiss lingers on another drop, a cry came out of my tongue stammering that pronounced: "Omsitardaioestornuvosenti."

When I was kissing the third drop sliding down the eyelids asleep, the house of cards stood as the wind vanes and the ants came in through the eye of a lock, singing opera in an African dialect, "ukelefurtivombolacrimamkalakalacrimaaaaaaaa"

When I was kissing the fourth drop, the tabs on the Angels swept the feet of the living, paving the way towards the sacred mountain, stone consist of letters without reading: "lduebapcijhfenfoehab cpñoakwxmjh cbueagxbuxpac"

When I saw kissing the fifth drop of the sea foam solidified build a tomb in the middle of the palace, and saw below della the living who had been seduced by proclaiming the message non nato. And said with a voice impossible arpeggios: "Oh, Queen Mother, when danced by the inhabitants of the earth and engulf our deaths?"

Then each of them was given a robe of bare skin for them to learn to love being part of the mystical body.

When I was kissing the sixth drop, I looked clockwise and showers of susceptible plants. The sun became small and a child ate a snack, the moon became fresh bread and sparkling eyes of men fell sea \u200b\u200bto light the unknown depths, such as apples fall from the tree when the soul is inflamed with lust for love. And they said the mountains and finite spaces, "Tumbaos on us and hide us from the loneliness of dying in the ear. For the day has come full fusion of flavors."

After this I saw four candles standing positions on the four cardinal points, holding the four winds so that does not blow in the face of the Muses extinct. I also saw another candle that bore those who read the word without understanding it, and gave off a light whose flames deconstructive.

When the seventh drop falling clock on parchment, and rested her lips open with her last kiss, there was silence in heaven which lasted ten beats.

** **

** **

** **

** **

** **

And then they opened with the sound of a thousand crystals and melt the clock chimes sang each of the drops that were pinned on the lips of the bishop .. . and one, two, three, four, five, six ... and the seventh drop began to dance in the air hitting each other and causing a whistling sound as musical notes. And I saw men who had dropped their eyes on the sea of \u200b\u200bthe earth, wandering blind in the palaces of cards, clothes and dancing naked as wicks faltering, with arms raised to the universe.

Blessed are those who drop their masks and their thirst for unspoken words, which were stripped of rags to wear the skin soft, smelling of incense and parchment. Blessed are those who open their lips to the truth fluffy dropper and are able to hear the rustling of the leaves are not printed.

To all who hear the posthumous message from the scroll that hangs from scratch, I warn you that if someone adds something to the message, click in body and soul, to write with their hands, to issue a licking, you paint on the skin with hair, which inspire the smell of the ocean and breathe life transparent.

And I, I saw all these things a second before awakening, I am writing now to give testimony of it before my mouth mute. I say goodbye definitivapocalípticamente, longing to have someone who still believes in the stopped clocks, and praying that drops Shed grace and laughter to everyone. Nothing will ever write in this blog, but I will draw my words on the ground floor with the tips of my bare feet.

So be it.

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DespedidApocalíptica My birthday! Amalia Bautista

24 years ago I was born on 21 September '84 , specifically, and giving a margin of fifteen minutes in time as to the accuracy, at 08:20 am (early bird girl, mother with insomnia, heh ... poor!). Virgo-blooded, tinged with Libra (only 24 hours separate me from the balance, therefore I am a fickle, unstable in search).

To give some color, excitement, and now this poor blog, so abandoned that I have it, some pictures of how to celebrate that special date. And, as one would expect, a few verses of Vicente Gallego:

PROFESSION OF FAITH

Perhaps I should congratulate today,

receive my warmest congratulations

so many imbalances, being

here simply

simple but not easy

live this afternoon, having conquered

through battles,

fall, gray days, the indifference, forgetfulness,

small triumphs, deaths

very small too,

but also very large.

Haber got here, to this light

who scored then,

to remember then, when it is difficult

admit the existence of this afternoon

which just came available,

healthy, still young, and determined even

forget fatigue, experience,

again convinced that yes,

that as of today, perhaps, all

which both have dreamed, yet,

could happen.

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Amalia Bautista, poet hitherto unknown to me, it seems capable of achieving the impossible: make the word becomes a pure feeling ... and that the feeling fully identifies with the word.

comes to the closing session of a course on poetry. Is the appointment?

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 12, from 10 to 13 (she'll be at the beginning) GRADE IN THE HALL OF THE FACULTY OF PHILOLOGY. comentaís No perdérosla error!

I leave one of his poems:

the end, very few words

that really hurt us, and very few

getting brighten the soul.

And they are also very few people

that move our hearts, let

even those that move a long time.

After are very few things

that really matter in life:

to love someone, we want

and not die after our children.

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Personality: born or made?

One of the things I question, anthropologically speaking (techniques including, for this reflection seems much more technical and professional), is the fact of seeing a person can change in a way that will finally become, at least for a period shorter or longer- another person entirely.
Yes!, Seriously, do not you ever happened to having a friend, neighbor or acquaintance who, at any given time, perhaps influenced by some kind of emotional crisis, or the result of age, or perhaps encouraged by some specific event, or merely a temporary neural, has begun to behave differently than they used to do things? And do not talk as a mere change of look (the eternal feminine tendency to cut his hair, or change the brand of lipstick in times of downturn), nor the fact of choosing a brand of unusual clothing, in front of the store always ; not even talk about the trend away from a slender sylph graceful and delicate to a compulsive eater chocolate, or become a walking chimney, smoking one cigarette after another ....
No. This is something deeper. Something that applies to the character, gestures, the way of walking, looking, talking, even breathing. By God! "Someone could ensure that he has never seen a known breathing differently!?

I have been able to verify some of these radical changes, and really raises the extent to which life is more than just a show, and all of us actors, playing the role we feel like we / should / enchants / .. .
So I had a friend who happened to dress in jeans, red plaid shirt (cloth type setting) and boots (I swear!) to buy shoes whose price now exceeds by far the value of all your old wardrobe. And I say sandals not to mention a simple necklace or a dress that costs more than I have ever seen euro banknotes together. I've also seen cases
contrary: they were friends in high boots stilettos ending in a tip impossible, with high neck shirt, sweater over the shoulders, and all the prototypical features of cock-cock-repija .. . and now go with boots, shorts, and pile on the hair hippies.
Holaaaaaa ¿? "Does anyone explain me, please?
Not to mention those are lovers through and through and give his life for someone else ............ till it's over love, as I say. Since there do you? FOREVER romanticism, but the "duration." That's not bad, let's see ... Who said good things come in small packages sold? But ..... I do not know, call me weird ... more cool me some stability. I do not want to be a product-English Court, "if not satisfied, you can return."

The question is .... How can a person start behaving in a way completely different from what came to be his, made a claim based on one's character in "x" years of his life? Is it really possible to change his habits, manners, way of being, simply by whim, or a personal challenge?
And here comes the big question, then: a human being adjust (voluntarily or involuntarily) his way of being, is still ultimately the same, or lose its true essence in the representation of that role has proposed incarnate? Is the individual himself, or could ensure correct that, in reality, the mutation has become someone else?

And not talking about looks, only, no. "What is essential is invisible to the eye." What do you think of the fact change of character, conduct ...... even, even, objectives, values \u200b\u200bor ideals of life? I know in really extreme cases when volubility. Firsthand. Why should they?, What part of our "I" struggles to survive in that quicksand capable of swallowing our features that we thought, deeply entrenched in our being?
all change, yes, "Law of Life," "constantly renew or die" ... ok, ok, ok ... but ............ PERSISTENT Is there something against all odds, something immutable, something firm, stable, faithful to ourselves?
Is there something forever, or we are nothing but ephemeral beings with a short life, a ephemeral consciousness and values, character and fickle and fleeting emotions?
The opinions change, the project of life and personal aspirations, the humor, intelligence (síiiiii, I knew things that I can not remember!) Affects .........
what we?, Why hold on?

......... and now comes the moment you look a little navel (tanned after the summer, in some cases), to ask the question seriously, the most personal, the most direct ... which one makes to himself: "What about me?, have I changed my character traits, behavior, or way of being to fit either my own mindset, or what is expected of me? "I can keep thinking that I am I, complete and authentic, despite everything?".
finding is not merely a monosyllabic answer "Yes" or "No, really, to leave it as it was ....... The question, in my way of thinking is rather wonder ... WHY I have to live such radical changes, perhaps as extreme?
ruled out a possible bipolarity. No, the test sites are not really reliable, girls ... If so, I would have to take years of therapy, fighting my cyber-diagnosed-personality-limit ("borderline personality" ... I say no wheat!).
ruled out to be mere sheep we get carried away by the herd (and that rule out that option is too big a concession for certain people, but hey, we're benevolent) ... Why
changed so radically?, "Attempts to please more, to be conformed to our skin, to believe we can be something similar to what our imagination paints it as desirable?
Or maybe it's just a subconscious appeal to make ourselves worthy of attention and love from those who have next? As he once told me: "Love always seeks to express a thousand different ways."
But this is not history as it appears in fairy tales, that we want as we are with our neuroses, quirks and differences from others? with all the baggage we bring from childhood, instead of changing everything at a stroke to reach "adult ?"...


changed ... using the metaphor that life is a river that will lead to the sea ... might say, as I told ya Parmenides? That everyone is at every moment, a little different, constantly changing ... like water from a river, constantly flowing (a man never bathe twice in the same river, said the philosopher.) Perhaps
us, while, we are always different people ... although, like rivers, preserve the name and history of its evolution, its geographical marks (skin-deep ),... their paths and tributaries new for those who will pursue other avenues to reach the final destination ...
Who knows. In any case, I write to reflect final opinions, nor to provide the solution to the problem ... I just wanted to reflect, and throw the question to air, what, what kind of non-know-what, emotional lift, earthquake, shakes us inside, to make us change his personality, at times, as we do ( I speak for me, at least ... though, of course, I already know I am "borderline" .. I have a psycho-net justification for the goose).

However, if you have any answers to my questions, comment, contribution o. ...... Whatever, go! write to me ... if not, take your pulse from time to time this year because with the start of the course is given by those who collect thimbles or brochures to learn English, but others, however, begin to make plans on the type of person that want to become for the year 2008-2009.
Eye! And, as we are, happy first years.

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'I have fear Torero' Sick

While our society has opened his mind in the field of sexuality anyway remains a taboo subject for most Chileans. If so how is the situation today, imagine how it was in the years of political dictatorship seventy-three in the government of Augusto Pinochet, where think, feel and live in a different way to standards established in that society without democracy was synonymous with rebellion and degeneration.
In the book 'I have miedo torero' the Chilean author Peter Lemebel is disclosed a reality ignored by the world, which is the continued life of the society homosexual, reflected in 'the' protagonist, The Queen of the Corner, who comes to live in a quiet neighborhood of Santiago after living endless hardships just what it is: a transvestite, or as she calls it, a star.
stay Shortly after she meets Carlos, a young college course that asks as a favor to save boxes and alleged study sessions at home, but in reality is a member of the Manuel Rodriguez Patriotic Front, and all she accepts these boards were to plan an attack against the dictator.

Gradually Loca starts to get to know Carlos, he falls madly in love with the illusion that he too could love her, so whatever he asks, she does just for him, without questions. While
to meet and her and having a vague idea of \u200b\u200btheir political leanings, Carlos becomes a hero, a knight in shining armor for her, who, thanks to this fairy tale love open your eyes, feeling the world in who lives and realizing that not everything was rosy as curtains and tablecloths home and ruthless tyrant that caused harm to where trod, likewise fails to understand that their situation was not easy for the time that was living, that the pardon was no longer accounted for as they were inside, its essence, but abroad, money and status were everything and that being gay was not the easy road, but the maze more difficult.
The term 'free will ' was not registered in the minds of those 'milicos' ruthless and less on the general, who Chile tried to bring a sort of Hitlerian government at the expense of the welfare of the people using it. Sexual options in those days were not, despite the redundancy, options, but had to be heterosexual or otherwise not counted as part of society and were treated like the worst scum that trod the earth.

In my opinion, this also had to do with that Carlos did not want to be nothing more than a friend of La Loca, as in the work parties followed that Carlos also loved, but perhaps for fear that see as a homosexual and that he discriminated against was linked not to reveal their feelings, without ignoring the fact that he belonged to the Patriotic Front and thus could face many risks and all the love he had preferred to keep their love and protect her.
why the dictatorship had much to do with homosexual love in Chile and in other countries, because with such censorship as much as feelings, thoughts, ideals and sexual choices, people who were different were it to not be silenced by all this discrimination, not to feel hatred and disgust of others who did not understand (and still do not understand) that gay love is just like any other heterosexual love and not for being different, not just because a person appeal to you or fall for another of the same sex should be tried and treated as trash, which was done in the military government, silencing the hearts and minds of those who were different.

I said!

PD: Lean I have fear of Torero Lemebel Pedro is very buenoooo!

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The dark side of the heart

Today I want to recommend a wonderful movie, maybe some of you seen, perhaps you know the name or at least, you would say that sometimes you have experienced "it" refers to what the title of it. It's called The dark side of the heart.
A poet, Oliver, looking for a woman ... who can fly. It is the only requirement .. but so hard to find, sometimes, among the people around us!
The film is "seasoned" with poems by Mario Benedetti, Juan Gelman and, of course, Oliver Girondo, making poetry what it is: an act, a word, a daily gesture.
I leave you with a piece of it, which I love.
Verse of the principle, "be with you or without you is the measure of my time "corresponds to a poem by JL Borges entitled The endangered.
The others are singing Altazor II, the poet Vicente Huidobro.
And all ..... sublime.

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Loneliness Liverpool

pesamientos Thoughts .... ....

[Ricardo Arjona, Loneliness] .

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Living is easy with eyes closed

Misunderstanding all you see

It's getting hard to Be Someone

But it all works out

It Does not Matter Much to me.

With these words from the song Strawberry Fields Forever , the Beatles, I start this little entry to say: I'm back in Liverpool! what an experience ..

certainly have been a few days in which, above curriculum, I have BIOGRAPHY: people from countries as diverse and yet so near and own such as Mexico, Peru, Italy, UK, or Spain itself.

conferences on all sorts of topics, books, questions .. halfway between the historical reality, fiction, dreams, myths, big aspirations and projections of the human soul.

endless walks through a city still young, full of life more than monuments, dances and sways to the rhythm of his music, and its purpose and the traveler always surprised that lives there, or it is left to dwell on it.

time of laughter, joy, surprise also ... as Prince would say fox: time to "go create links, little by little."

crazy time, learning to live intimate moments with people never before seen, and learn about who themselves were close (where you been all this time?).

and time of (re) know about all this, in what has caught me, what is not, in what he craved, as he did not want to happen, in every second that marked the clocks, English schedule impossible, with sunrise at five in the morning and twelve hours after his afternoon tea.

From Liverpool I took many pictures, as a sentimental patchwork, as a music emanating from within, and it sounds loud and concerns more .. And in all, a reflection of lived experience:

COSMOPOLITAN MANY SMILES

of those that perhaps their "owners" forget who gave them to me in just a second, of those, it sounds cliché to say-that still live the times that marks the heart, and forever.

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intellectual Rollito x double

Yes! I know that a blog is to write ....... that nooooo, this really is not a photoblog !!.... is a blog ........ How? "Why do not I just put pictures of me ?........... but is possible! Well, look, now I'm short of words ........ What is itself not a philologist ?...... what is not appropriate is start writing here tomorrow having to submit a 15 pages and taking only one written ..................... do not ever begin to tell me why I am not sighted ............... "Perdonaaaa? I always catches the bull ??............ Well, yes, I work under pressure and ................... what the case is that now I have to put a fixed gear with "The amphorae of Epicurus" , Rubén Darío .......... What what I think? Well, look, I recommend a poem called LOVE YOUR RATE .................. What you've never heard it ?........... revel in it, you write it then and, incidentally, my granny glasses new ............ . SIIIII, I know you are super retro, but what ARE GREAT AT WHAT?, lol ............. Well, it says:

"LOVE YOUR RHYTHM"

Love your rhythm and punctuates your actions

under its law, and your verses;

are a universe of universes

and your soul a source of songs.

The blue unit
presuppose

you will sprout in different worlds,

and phone numbers scattered echo

pitagoriza in your constellations.

Listen divine rhetoric

bird and night air

geometric irradiation guess,

taciturn indifference kills

and engages pearl and crystal pearl

where truth turns his urn.

........¿ how?, What ?.......... no big deal Well, son, I prefer that to the "Sonatina" for "the princess is sad, what the hell happens to the doomed Princess ?"............... pa likes the colors ......... if you leave another ........... I know it's going to sound a little "what is this man to give me advice grandfather, telling me that I am a young man", but hey, get it in place, and extracts the essence of this "SOURCE."

"SOURCE"

Young, I offer the gift of this silver cup

so that one day you can quench your thirst burning

thirst with their fire kills more than death.

abrevarte But you only in one source.

Another water than yours have to tell you the ungrateful;

seeks its hidden origin living in the cave,

where the music inside your crystal breaks out,

next to Weeping tree and rock feel.

Guíete the mysterious echo of the murmur;

rough climbs the cliffs of pride,

down the record and descends into the abyss

whose entry grim hold seven panthers;

are the Seven Deadly Sins, seven wild beasts.

Fill the cup and drink: the source is in yourself.

............... Well, look, if you dont want to go I do not discourage, I expected a long night with this man .................. yes, you do not see what that sounds sexy, we are ............", Reuben see ", lol ......................... OK, that said, I've already written something, so I have an excuse to put on, the Finally, what I wanted: my picture with granny glasses fashion news that, somehow, they are also poetry ... hehe ... until prontoooooooo!

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Sequence ..........

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So I continue ...

Among yawn and yawn,

I missed the soul

[Bonus those who can give it back]

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So we walk ...

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The heart knows reasons that reason does not understand

Sometimes the heart should follow the mind.

Most times, the heart should tell mind:

"Stay at home and not meddle"

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A little tenderness A shout of joy

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Today I look to send you:

a pinch of color

a torrent of joy

a smirk sincere

and my wish that you live every day

attentive to discover

WONDER

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Biches on the internet, I found this statement of love-modern-psychedelic ... hehehe ... What stuff!

If you already know, LOVE is creative, always inventing new ways to express themselves.

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the creativity of love Wait ... Alejandra

I keep waiting for the scholarship. . . . . .

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... My Alejandra ...

if I dare

to look and say

is for shade

together so soft my name

far away in the rain

in my memory

his face

that burning in my poem

beautifully dispersed perfume

a loved

face disappeared.

[Pizarnik, Alejandra. Complete Poetry. Ed Lumen. Sense of absence "from Work and nights. page. 172]

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Today I feel a little Virginia Woolf

Today I stayed home for a while, enjoying the solitude given away, not elected, also desired. I've put the film "The Hours", which I think from start to finish a poetry reading, dramatic, spiritual ... a mirror in which I contemplate myself in so many things ... in the desperate drive chains death to life, life to death in endless hours that I'm looking for myself, beyond the skin, ideas, of being or not ....

And, after seeing the movie, I have come to causation in a blog that had an entry titled: "Today I feel a little Virginia Woolf" ( http://images.google.es / imgres? imgurl = http://www.iespana.es/oscardehollywoodweb/oscar2002/nicolekidman.jpg&imgrefurl=http://libertinajegatuno.blogspot.com/2006/03/ayer-estaba-un-poco-virginia-woolf . html & h = 1058 & w = 790 & sz = 78 & hl = en & start = 15 & um = 1 & tbnid = lpnn13YTHW0bMM: & TBNH = 150 & tbnw = 112 & prev = / images% 3Fq% 3Dvirginia% 2Bwoolf% 26um% 3D1% 26hl% 3des% 26sa% 3DN )

..... and the phrase has resounded within me with the forcefulness with a feather ripping the paper it is written a novel, or a life, or the threat of life we \u200b\u200bnever take ... So, with that momentum needed than not to be counted, because it comes only from every pore of the skin ... and has beaten me this sentence, I looked, I was drawn to myself

TODAY I FEEL A LITTLE VIRGINIA WOOLF

And then, in that fleeting moment in which a decision awareness of how the memory of the dead are reincarnated through the living, of how feelings and Special notes dismal start lucidity through literature, of how one discovers within himself small vestiges of worlds and other previously visited ... the ineffable world in which demons are unleashed, the ghosts of the past is projected into the future, and all the tears of life moans and cries and curls up in his hands and grips the soul from the depths ...

could not say how it feels when "is" Virginia Woolf ... as the poet said: " who tasted it, you know."

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Looking back .. Making

The other day I was leafing through (if you can used the term Internet case) the latest entries I have been adding in the last two months, in this corner so that is my blog. And, really, I see that the thing has evolved entirely from my beginnings. I think at some point, I stopped along the way that good intentions I had, to begin using this space to write reflections "more or less profound", adding poems and make a pseudo-apology "to my style of course - literature and philosophy everyday .....

I see that recently a lot fotito much video, and much comment friki pa out of step ... but little background .... shallow ....

imagine that this is only the subtle reflection of how I walk I therefore ultimately not give what you do not.

For now, just spent time lately, because it's not about me, really. Furthermore, the shallowness of these entries can be, without doubt, the result of the convenience of hanging here anything you find online, for not stopping to ramble great thoughts (although I do not do big things, I must say .. . I always liked to express myself through little things .... of which suggests "no ".... say what has to be interpreted beyond what you write .... hummmmm).

not seeking to justify ... in fact, not even quite understand why I'm typing this entry at this precise-and precious-moment. But nevertheless, I promise that when you have a little time, and a muchito more inspiration, try to retake the twang with which I started eight months ago.

For now, to see if the next post I talked a little jobs I've done for a doctoral course and I found it very interesting .. not so much because my research is no big deal, but because this world of trying, I find it fascinating. Is the topic? The arrival of the English Peru in 1532, when they conquered (and destroyed, the very cazurros) the Inca empire, known as Tahuantinsuyo, during the "reign" of Atahualpa, the Inca twelfth. LAST ONE!